Casey Vs The Rookies
by kroblues
Summary: A one shot set just after the events of Chuck Vs The Captain. Casey has retired from the NSA and is now training rookie NSA agents.


**A/N: Here you go, a little Casey based fun for you to tide you over between the end of Captain and the first chapter of the sequel. Thanks go to SarahLisaWalkerFan101 (Or SLWF lol, much easier to type) for the beta, read her fics! They have talking rocks and everything! What's not to love?**

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Major John Casey, formerly Captain Casey of the 1st Special Operations Wing and Lieutenant Casey of the U.S. Marines Corps, and until recently a deep cover operative of the NSA, was standing outside of Ft. Meade, Maryland with some trepidation.

This came as a shock to the normally stoic former agent; he wasn't used to feeling anything approaching fear, not even in some of the worst situations Casey's illustrious career had placed him had he felt something that could be described as fear, even during that mission in North Korea where he had ended up setting their nuclear ambitions back by about 5 years.

_Hmph, fat lot of good that did, Kim Jong Il will probably just nuke Seoul on his deathbed anyway, we can't deal with these madmen anymore than Bartowski can stop being annoying._

Casey grunted and shook his head to clear those sorts of thoughts. He had never had them before, and in earlier days he would have accused those who did as traitors or of being weak-minded. Now he could sympathise with them, which wasn't something John Casey did much of either before a certain assignment in Los Angeles.

He stepped through the visitor doors of Ft. Meade's main building, remembering the last time he had done this. He had been on crutches at the time, mementoes of the reason he had decided to leave the Air Force: A nerve cluster in his lower back had been torn apart by shrapnel during an ambush as his unit assisted British troops in Helmand province, Afghanistan. He and his commanding officer had been the only survivors of the American troops involved in that fight, and the British had suffered heavy casualties too.

Now, there were no such injuries to contend with. His movement had been largely restored by a series of neurological treatments, and Casey had ended up finishing his NSA training in record time, despite the fact his knees still tended to seize up in cold weather. This had caused severe issues in Casey's many Russian missions, naturally, and some NSA asset had come up with a lining for his trouser legs which acted much like a hand warmer; the gel lining warming automatically if the temperature dropped below 5⁰C.

This had quite literally saved Casey's life on more than one occasion, although one time it was because of the gel's hitherto unknown properties as a bullet resistor. The bullet's trajectory had been plotted in Casey's After Action Report, and it was determined that it would have ended up ploughing directly through the femoral artery, and with a wound that size, Casey would most likely have bled out long before any medical aid could reach him.

Casey took a seat in the lobby, after making the receptionist aware of his presence, and waited for General Beckman, or more likely, one of her assistants to come down and fetch him. Casey had turned in his NSA Field Operative badge to Major Wyndham before he left LA for Maryland, so he was going to need an escort if he wanted to go anywhere slightly less than public in this facility.

_Typical, isn't it. You spend 7 years as a Federal Agent, and 10 as a soldier, and you get escorted to see your boss as if you're a terrorist. _

Casey found himself shaking off mutinous thoughts for the second time that day, just as what looked like a secretary walked through the double blast doors at the far end of the lobby. She walked with the gait normally adopted by such people who were piggybacking on the success of people in power, somewhere between an arrogant strut and power walking.

Casey, somewhat unsurprisingly, didn't approve of that, but then again Casey struggled to understand most of the reasoning for military personnel to want to work behind a desk. He knew the orders had to come from somewhere, but Casey wasn't too enamoured with the idea of listening to people who hadn't actually experienced the rigours of warfare. It hadn't worked in World War I, so why should it work now? He had reasoned with himself, but Casey's soldier training was too ingrained in him to defy a direct order.

"Major Casey? Would you come with me, please? General Beckman has been expecting you," said the assistant once she had reached the position where Casey was sitting.

Casey sprang to his feet, and followed after the assistant, who had barely acknowledged him aside from the curt greeting she gave him as she approached. It wasn't often Casey met someone who was even more comfortable with silence than him, and he was content to walk through the labyrinthine halls of Ft. Meade in that silence, following the assistant to General Beckman's office. As they reached it, the assistant stepped aside, sitting behind a desk just to the side of the office door.

"Please, take a seat," she said, indicating the leather couch lined up along one wall. Casey did as requested, while the assistant checked to see if Beckman was free to see Casey. It was only a short wait, as the assistant replaced the phone in its holder and turned to Casey.

"The General will see you now," she said as she walked to the imposing doors and opened them for the Major. Casey was slightly nervous; he hadn't ever met the General in person, and their only contact had been via the video screens in LA. His usual controllers for assignments had been one star Generals or Colonels.

Of course, that had all changed with Project Intersect, and Casey's burned out star had made it right to the top of the NSA food chain. In some ways it had been a way for Casey to rebuild his career and remove his reputation as a burnout, a true career-making mission. In other ways, the LA assignment had destroyed his covert career, by making Casey discover what little humanity he had left, and a human side is never good for a killer.

"Major Casey," began General Beckman, "Are you sure you want to retire your position as a field operative?"

"Yes ma'am," answered Casey, "Aside from the emotional trauma, I'm not getting any younger. I just can't totally rely on my body to be able to pull me through some situations anymore."

"Will you be able to fulfil your role as a trainer, Major?"

"Yes ma'am. My major concern is the nerve injury I sustained in Afghanistan. This shouldn't have any bearing on my performance to act as a trainer, ma'am."

"Very well, as you may know, NSA agents undergo basic training alongside the U.S. Marine Corps, and the 2IC recently took medical retirement, we need someone to act somewhat as a mentor to our rookies. Considering you were our best agent, there's nobody better to prepare our rookies for the espionage world. Are there any questions?"

"Just one, ma'am. What would be my role in the training process?"

"You would be responsible for training a group of five, mixed between agents and Marines, and you would also act as a mentor of sorts for the NSA trainees on site. Is there anything else?"

"No ma'am, understood."

"Good, report to Quantico by 0800 tomorrow. Take a couple of days to settle in, the first group of trainees should be arriving on Friday."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good luck, Major, and thank you for your services to the NSA."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Casey, and he was filled with a huge feeling of pride at receiving praise from such a high ranking officer.

_If I ever see you again, Bartowski, you might actually survive. Hell, I might not even turn you in if you don't piss me off._

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Casey arrived at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia, at around 7.30 in the morning. Always a stickler for punctuality, he had decided to arrive early just in case the base was difficult to navigate. Casey hadn't been there for years, not since his own NSA training, and any memories he did have of the place were fairly hazy.

He pulled his Crown Vic up to the main gate of the base and waited for the guard on duty to notice him. The guard, a corporal, lazily waved him through after Casey showed him his new NSA badge, which contained his new role as an Academy trainer.

Casey drove his Crown Victoria to the training area of the base, and left it parked outside what seemed to be the main building of that particular area. The parade ground was, as usual, just in front of the main building, and Casey could see a couple of groups of cadets going through some early morning PT just to the side of it.

Casey wasn't particularly looking forward to going through that. It was one of his biggest weaknesses that he tried to keep up with everyone else, so Casey knew he'd be going on 5 mile runs most mornings, and the LA assignment hadn't been too conducive to staying in shape. He was looking forward to getting back to the military side of things too. It had been far too long.

He entered the main building, and set about looking for the training commander's office. His badge got him through all of the security, and one of the MP Officers helpfully gave him directions to said office. The commander's aide directed him to wait in one of the chairs just next to the door, and he was soon waved in to meet the man who would probably be his boss for the foreseeable future.

The commander was sitting at the desk, and motioned for Casey to stand in front of it, while he stood to greet Casey. The two men shook hands, and began to exchange the pleasantries.

"Major Casey, sir. It's an honour to be working here, sir," said Casey.

"Colonel Sanders, Major. I'm looking forward to working with you," answered the commander.

Casey was fighting to keep a straight face, calling on all of his training to school his features, but it was a struggle.

"Just let it out, Major, I've heard it all before," said the Colonel understandingly, which broke the dam and Casey burst out laughing, losing all pretence of professionalism. He didn't know why he found it so funny; if Casey understood what made people laugh he would've had a go at comedy in between military tours of duty. Eventually Casey felt calm enough to be able to try talking and at least have a go at apologising. This was developing into a fairly bad first impression in Casey's opinion, and one of the few people whose opinion Casey valued was his superior officer, so he needed to fix this.

"Sorry, sir. It was unprofessional for me to react like that," said Casey apologetically.

"Believe me, Major, that reaction was nothing compared to some I've gotten. To say I'm used to it is an understatement, so why don't we put it behind us and get going with the real work?"

"Sounds like a good idea, sir."

"Alright then. As you may know, the 2IC generally acts as a mentor for the NSA Agents-In-Training and is the NSA Liaison with the Marine Corps. Now I don't know what you did in the NSA, and frankly, I don't care, but I've read your file and you've served in the Marines, so you should be fine around here, even taking into account your straying to the Air Force."

"Yes sir, is there anywhere I can set up shop? As much as I hate sitting behind a desk, it might make organisation a little easier."

"You can take Major Wilson's old office; it's just across the hall. The cleaners should be in later today to remove his personal belongings from there that he couldn't take with him when he left, but feel free to make yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir. Is there any word on when the recruits will be arriving?"

"It'll be a couple of days Major, so we'll go over a briefing tomorrow so you know what to do. It's not that hard, I'm sure you remember your Drill Sergeant from when you were training."

"Yeah, Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, he was a real hardass."

"Think how he was, and act like him. That's the best advice I can give you."

"How can you be sure his training methods worked, sir?"

"You're still alive, aren't you? That means they worked, Major. Is there anything else?"

"No sir!"

"Good. Dismissed, Major."

With that, Casey turned on his heel and set off for his office, mentally planning the decorations already in his head to give it at least a touch of home, or at least however much home can be when you haven't spent more than 2 consecutive months there in the last decade.

_I wonder how many Reagan photos I can get on the desk? Or how many guns we're allowed in the office. I'll have to check on that._

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The briefing that the Colonel held was a fairly standard one, Casey assumed. There were the names of the NSA agents in training, and the ranks that they held. Of the group of five that Casey would be in charge of training and mentoring, there were two corporals, a sergeant and a lieutenant. The NSA tried to keep the training groups as small as possible; this allowed for more focus on fixing any deficiencies that may be present in any recruit, and it gave a more tight-knit group.

Often, agents that completed their training were partnered with another agent from their training group. The odd number was to accommodate the fact that there was always at least one failure per group.

Now, they were beginning to arrive with the rest of the recruits, looking around slightly nervously as they took in the surroundings. Casey could pick the rookie agents just from looking at them. The marine cadets had a slightly cocky demeanour, as if they knew they were a few months from being the best of the best, but the agents were more reserved, making an effort to act like agents even before they had training. Casey spotted one straight off, the young man's eyes flickering as they tried to take in the entirety of the surroundings.

He reminded Casey of himself one his first day of training. _The rookies always try to do too much_, he mused. Casey supposed that was the point of the mentoring process; he had always learned a lot of valuable lessons from the veteran agents he had worked with on certain assignments and now it was his job to pass on his own multitude of experience to the rookies and help them survive in the field.

Casey watched the agents separate themselves from the herd of cadets that were making their way, and this was his cue to approach them as they began to stand in a small group. They noticed his approach fairly quickly, surveyed his shoulder, saw the leaf, and they all snapped to attention with military precision, as Casey expected.

"Form a line in height order, soldiers!" shouted Casey, and the recruits did so much quicker and much more orderly than Casey was expecting.

_Damn it feels good for someone to follow orders for a change_

"Now, when I give you an order, it will be followed as quickly as possible. You will address me as 'sir' or Major Casey. I want you to begin and end every time you address me with that honorific. Am I understood?" bellowed Casey.

"Sir yes sir!" shouted the recruits in response.

"Your rank is recruit from now until your training is complete. Do you understand?" continued Casey at the same volume.

"Sir yes sir!"

"Now," began Casey, striding down the line until he was stood in front of the shortest recruit, who was still over six foot tall, "what is your name, recruit?"

"Sir, Recruit Linderman, sir!"

"And why do you want to join this beautiful agency, recruit?"

"Sir, to protect my country, sir!"

"And you think you can do that on your own, recruit?"

"Sir, no, sir!"

"Then what do you want to do?"

"Sir, I want to help in whatever way I can, sir!"

"That's what we do, recruit," said Casey, moving on to the next recruit. Linderman visibly relaxed in relief, which Casey picked up on.

"You do not relax until I order you to relax, recruit. You eat when I say to eat, you sleep when I tell you to sleep. Unless I order you to do it, you don't do it. Is that understood, recruits?"

"Sir yes sir!" boomed the five recruits.

"You," said Casey, moving to the third recruit in the line to throw them off guard as much as possible, "give me your name."

"Sir, Recruit Mitchell, sir!"

"Any _lofty_ ambitions, recruit? Do you want to save the world?"

"Sir, I want to make our country safer to the best of my ability, sir!"

Casey moved along the line, asking each recruit more or less the same question. They learned from Linderman's mistake quickly, and the other three; Recruits Rohrer, Hamilton and Cobb, were joined in relief by Linderman and Mitchell once it seemed the pleasantries were done with. Casey stepped out from directly in the faces of the recruits and stood facing the group again.

"This will be the hardest month of your miserable lives! You thought basic training was hard? That was a fucking cakewalk compared to this! By the time we're through, you will be highly trained killing machines! You will be able to kill a man with your bare hands! You will be able to put a bullet in the head of Osama from a mile away! You will be able to eliminate the enemies of our country covertly, and be able to walk away without anybody being any the wiser! You will be the best of the best! If anyone thinks they aren't up to the task of protecting our proud nation, you walk away now and there will be no consequences! Anyone?" asked Casey, pausing to give any doubters the chance to step in, when nobody did, he continued.

"I thought as much. Let me tell you now, if you think what those marine cadets are going to go through is hard, you will be begging me to let you join them by the end of the week! They will look like amateurs next to you once your training is finished! Now get in your barrack, dump your shit and get to the quartermaster's office! Dismissed!"

_Fuckin kids, what have I let myself in for here?_

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**It's not that long, but it's kinda essential to bridge the gap between Chuck Vs The Captain and the sequel, which is currently in the planning stages of its development. I'm trying to figure out some stuff to put into it and how the overall arc is going to work, but once that's done I'll get writing it, so around a week is a good estimate. Please review this, even if you hated it. So long as it's constructive criticism I can improve as a writer, which is my aim. So, any things you liked/disliked/thought could be better? **

**Thanks for reading,**

_**Kroblues**_


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